Episode 4 ~ The Chill of Time

Calliope stood on the pedestal, anchored in the ritual that Orthen had asked them to aid with. The air was tainted with something she couldn’t quite place. Calliope had just begun to understand the smallest bit of her magic as she listened to Nana chant. The elementals, however, were tougher than she expected. She saw Gideon Throw one of the elementals into another.

As she sought to support others, something pulled at her. She couldn’t understand it; her chest felt cold, like a chunk of ice hung around her neck. She gripped it with one hand as shadows flickered at the edge of her vision. The feeling was inexplicable, and it shuddered through her. She couldn’t keep up with what was happening, and as the ritual came to an end, she collapsed to her knees..

“Have you tried praying?” Arlo asked her as the cold pendant on her chest grew heavier. The pain felt endless.

“Can’t you take it off?” someone else asked, though she couldn’t see who through the haze of pain.

Sumit began a ritual to identify the necklace she wore. After a few moments, he muttered something about it being a protection amulet that would keep everything out, without discretion.

For a moment, Calliope looked at her hand, and what she saw in the flickering light was strange. As the others crowded around to help her, Arnos listened to her heart, while Sumit and Elizabeth hovered over her. Her hand appeared almost robotic, but she knew she was made of flesh and blood. She fought to regain control of her senses, pushing away whatever presence lingered. In the chaos of the moment, she slipped into the void.

She saw her mother, and her voice was clear. “Get your hands off me.”

Then, as if nothing had happened, she found herself back in the present. Nana had turned to Crystal, who looked serene as they made their way back to town for a celebration. Calliope remembered dancing with Elizabeth, surrounded by people who rejoiced at her movements. But did she feel the same joy?

She recalled Orthen’s words about the Puppeteer, though he claimed the being was long dead. As she stood, catching her breath, her heart ticked endlessly on.

Later, Arnos found her staring at the sky, sobering up from the festival. He sat beside her, and in his thick dwarven accent, he told her there was a thread trailing from her chest. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it stretched off into the horizon. She closed her eyes, wishing the phantom touches and laughter would stop haunting her. She watched as Arnos’ beard blazed on as they sat in silence.